


Young Blood

by Dansmapropretete



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:18:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3225503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dansmapropretete/pseuds/Dansmapropretete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic Request: I got a request (it's kinda smut) of Barry and Iris in their teenage years (15, 16?) being sexually awakened by each other cause of puberty/hormones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Young Blood

At the age of sixteen, when the house was empty on Thursday evenings Clark Kent's weekly adventures in Smallville played out on the flat screen in front of her.

It was then that Iris West had formed a habit of lying on the couch for an hour or two with her hands down her cotton shorts, thinking hard about. . . Well . . . Barry. She told herself it was innocent. Innocent, that was her word. Barry was the only guy there, one of the only boys in the 10th grade that Iris could tolerate. Sweet, funny, smart, innocent.

She didn't know where had gotten these wild ideas, but in those Thursday evening moments, Iris and Barry were older. He had found the confidence to touch her.

They stood face to face in the kitchen of all places. Barry quirked an eyebrow and Iris smirked as he moved closer.  
He flicked her hair over her shoulder and placed a light kiss on her neck. Then her lips. In the fantasy, Barry was a dirty kisser, which Iris couldn't attest to, but she liked to believe it was true.  
He picked her up and carried her to the sofa.

His large hands cupped and squeezed her breasts. He kissed and suckled at them as she sat in his lap, her hands braced on his shoulders. She raked her nails along Barry's scalp and sighed. He trailed bruising kisses up her chest and neck and moaned, "God, Iris."

Once she had gotten caught . . . sort of. Barry had come home early, and she didn't hear the door rustle open, Barry was crouched in front of with his hands kneading her ass. So close to coming when--

"Hey, Iris! Stop eating in my car. I can't get that French fry smell out of-- holy shit!" Barry's mouth dropped at the sight of her. Eyes closed, one hand on her breast, the other drawing rapid circles under her shorts.

His neck was bent at a superhuman angle as he admired her, his eyes big with fascination and surprise.

"Jesus Christ! What are you doing?!" she shrieked. Her face was hot with embarrassment.

"Me? What about you? I take naps on this couch?"

"Oh, god," she moaned.

He drew closer and sat on the back of the couch, eyeing the tv first then Iris. "So, this guy really does it for you, huh?" he teased, speaking of Tom Welling.

She shot up from the sofa, tank top still askew. "Shut up, Barry! God, you're such a jerk. Why are you even here?" she cried darting up the stairs.

"Off to finish what you started?" Barry asked slyly.

"Fuck you!" he heard her say faintly, and she shut the door. Barry and Iris scarcely spoke again until about a week later when she caught him in his bedroom.


End file.
